Come Take My Hand
by topaz11
Summary: Alternate Universe. When a fire occurs at 4 Privet Drive, what does fate hold in store for 9 year old Harry Potter?
1. Up in Flames

Disclaimer: JK Rowling and a few other people own everything, I don't.

Come Take My Hand

Chapter 1

Up In Flames

The full moon was hanging high in the night sky over Surrey.

It was an hour when one would expect that most people would be asleep in their beds; the morning sunlight wouldn't come drifting through their curtains for a good few hours more.

However, in a house in Little Whinging, one person lay awake.

This person was in fact a child of nine years, with tousled black hair and of a scrawny build. The boy hadn't been awake for more than a few minutes, and he was quite unsure as to why he had awoken. He had opened his eyes to find a spider crawling along his cheek, but such things were a common occurance, generally not disturbing him.

The child turned over to lie on his side, stretching his legs out as much as he could within the small cupboard. The house was entombed in silence, not unusual given the time of night.

Yet the child had an eerie feeling that something wasn't quite as normal as it seemed.

As he lay staring up at the ceiling, the events of the previous day drifted back to him.

His cousin, Dudley, had attempted to hit the smaller boy in the face with Aunt Petunia's new vase...the expensive vase had somehow dissolved into a powdery substance on impact...

Aunt Petunia had been shocked...the boy supposed that she had expected the vase to be of better quality. Glass didn't often dissolve to powder...

He did think that it was good that it had done so though; smashed glass in his face would have, no doubt, been rather painful.

But then, then there had been yelling.

Yelling...Uncle Vernon had been angry at him.

Really angry.

The vase had been very expensive, the young boy reasoned. Aunt Petunia had said so, many times. If it was his fault that it had broken, it was fair enough that he be thrown into the cupboard... it was hardly a punishment anyway, he was used to being there, he enjoyed the solitude.

Being alone was better than being in the company of people who didn't like him. And no one liked him, he could remember Uncle Vernon telling him so...or maybe it had been Aunt Petunia...

He reached a small hand up to the cupboard door and pushed against it tenderly.

It was locked. Yes... he remembered his Uncle locking the door, hours before...

He pulled his hand away from the door and closed his eyes.

As he lay there, a smell drifted into the air. The child was used to this smell, he'd been cooking meals for the Dursleys for quite some time...when he had been using the oven, this smell was generally followed by Aunt Petunia yelling at him...burnt food was wasted food...

He rolled over, somewhere in between being asleep and awake.

Burnt...burning...fire..._fire..._

The boy's eyes flew open as his half-asleep mind fully registered what was happening.

Both of his hands went to the door this time, pulling at it, pushing it, the lock held strong. The small child was no match against the metal bolt.

The smell of smoke grew stronger.

Still he thrashed his hands against it, kicked at it with his foot...the slight force still had no effect.

"UNCLE VERNON, AUNT PETUNIA, PLEASE...SOMEONE, _ANYONE..._"

His shouts were mingled with someone else's now... Dudley's maybe, someone was screaming...

Smoke was slowly drifting in under the cupboard door now, blanketing the space around him. He banged at the door, desperate to get out of what would soon become an incinerator.

No-one came.

The child couldn't hear any voices now...the only thing he could hear was vague coughing...his own. As best he could, he threw all his weight against the door, which, by some miracle finally gave in...

The door hinges had disappeared, though he didn't take this information in as he stumbled out into the living room through thick, hazy greyness...

He could make out flickering flames in the direction of the doorway to the rest of the house, he ran from it, out through the front door, it a state of shock and confusion.

The predominant image in the scene he was presented with outside was a fire truck.

Red.

Red like the fire.

Spinning around, he looked up at the place he had called home for the whole extent of his life.

Now it was burning. Flames leapt out from the windows, the walls were being overcome by it as well. And the air, for as far as he could see, was grey.

Some people were running towards it, some people were running away from it. They were all moving at a speed that was overwhelming. And then there was the noise...

He closed his eyes and brought his hands up to cover his ears. The sirens were resounding in his mind. Moving forwards on unsteady feet, he tripped over the leg of his pyjama pants...they were still a bit too long for him...

The child's knees collapsed from under him as he fell to the ground on the damp grass, bewilderment and exhaustion proving a bad combination.

He could hear a familiar voice. In the distance, Uncle Vernon was yelling...he did a great deal of that, the boy thought blurrily.

Arms scooped him up and further away from the house, before passing him over to someone else.

Opening his eyes slightly, he looked up at the women carrying him.

"Are y-you a n-nurse?" He whispered softly, realising for the first time that he was shaking uncontrollably.

"Yes, dear." was the reply he received as he was placed in the ambulance.

He could hear voices all around him now, unfamiliar and strange...he couldn't hear Uncle Vernon any longer. He found himself wishing he could...at least it was something he was used to...

Fatigue finally overcame him and he spiralled into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	2. Blame and Confusion

Disclaimer: JK Rowling and a few other people own everything, I don't.

Come Take My Hand

Chapter 2

Blame and Confusion

The child woke to find himself in a blurry place that he could not immediately identify. Blinking and rubbing his eyes, he sat up in the bed and reached out towards an indistinct formation next to the bed. His hand groped around the bedside table before finally touching a familiar combination of thin metal and glass.

Placing his glasses on, he was able to make the observation that he was in a hospital bed. In a very white and very empty room.

As a cold shiver ran down his spine, he wished with all his heart that he was back at the only home he had ever known, as unwelcome as he was there. Even his cupboard seemed preferable to the uncertainity of his current location.

He shuffled back down into the bed, pulling the sheets up so only his wide emerald eyes framed by broken glasses were visible.

The fire was sitting in the back of his mind. It didn't seem real enough to warrant thinking about.

He found himself hoping that his Aunt and Uncle would come and collect him soon. He couldn't help thinking that perhaps they wouldn't bother after the incident with the vase.

Would they send him to an orphanage instead of taking him back to Privet Drive with them? The child had mixed thoughts over orphanages - the way that his Uncle had often threatened to send him to one made them sound like they were very unpleasant indeed. And he had seen movies which depicted orphanage owners as people who treated children cruelly. Yet how bad could one possibly be?

He wasn't entirely sure he wanted this question answered. Maybe it was safer hoping to stick with the Dursleys'.

Footsteps combined with the sound of a door being opened alerted the child to the presence of another person entering the room.

"Awake at last, Mr. Potter." A lady with typical nurse clothing and cropped grey hair stated with polite cheerfulness.

The one she was addressing didn't reply, but drew the bed covers up a fraction further.

"I'm sorry that you had to stay here the night; your uncle was in a state of shock following the fire. He has, however, notified us that he will be here today to pick you up. Luckily, he didn't have too much trouble finding temporary accomodation." She continued, ignoring the boy's lack of response.

This time the child peeked out enough to nod in understanding. Then, as though something he had not previously realised had just dawned on him, he spoke.

"And Aunt...Aunt Petunia and D-Dudley, they're alright, aye?" He questioned softly, looking up at the nurse's face for reassurance.

An awkward expression formed on the elderly nurse's face.

"Well...I suppose it's best I tell you, your uncle may not be ready to speak about it yet. I'm sorry to inform you that while your cousin got out safely, your aunt perished it the fire."

While there was sympathy evident in her eyes, it was clear the nurse had little experience in breaking such news to a child.

The child by the name of Harry Potter looked up at her blankly, as though his young mind was having trouble processing the information. He had never got along well with his aunt, it was clear the women disliked him and he had almost given up attempts to change her view of him. Yet, she was the nearest thing to a mother figure that the boy had in his life, following the car accident that had taken the lives of his own mother and father eight years earlier.

And to think of the fire, the _fire_, burning...

Traumatised, the thin child resisted the urge to throw up. He hurridly shoved the thought from his mind and began mentally counted to one hundred, as he often did when upset.

"I'm so sorry." The nurse said repeated quietly, before leaving the room.

Curling up under the blankets, Harry attempted to imagine the Dursley household without his Aunt. Somehow, it seemed unlikely that life would be any easier for him. He then drifted into a daydream where his parents were still alive, and were hugging him and assuring him that they would never leave his side...

He awoke with a start as his dream transformed into a nightmare, with angry flames consuming his parents.

Fighting back tears that were forming under his glasses, Harry was surprised to discover the large, familiar form of his uncle standing in the doorway, speaking with a nurse, younger than the previous. His uncle didn't look like he was coping all too well, his beefy face more ashen than usual, and his usually immaculate appearance more rugged.

"Come, boy, we're leaving." He announced roughly, moving towards the bed.

As the large hand seized Harry's arm tightly, he found himself pulled from the bed and out of the room. The nurse looked slightly concerned attempted to talk the the obviously angry man, but her protests proved futile and in the end she just shook her head, hoping for the child's sake that the man would calm down eventually.

Harry was basically dragged from the hospital, his uncle having already recieved confirmation that the boy could leave. Vernon was moving to fast for the short child to merely walk.

Once outside in the parking lot, Harry was shoved into the car, which vibrated hard as the door was slammed shut behind him. This occured a second time as the man entered the car.

From then on there was silence.

Though young, the child easily sensed the older man's anger, now joined with pain, was at a point where even breathing too loudly could set him off in a violent rage. He kept quiet, which wasn't hard, as he had little he wanted to say. As they drove through the city, Harry gazed out the window, watching children clinging to their parent's hands as they crossed the busy roads, watched families laughing as they shared ice-cream.

It all fascinated him, each time he saw such things.

These people proved that happy families weren't just in the fairy tales his aunt used to read to Dudley.

They drove from the city out into the countryside, where the sun could be seen disappearing down behind the dark green hills. Vernon then turned into a driveway in front of a house that Harry felt sure he had visited once before, though he couldn't remember when exactly.

"Marge's old house. Hasn't sold yet so she said we could stay here a while." The man snarled, stuffing some money into the hand of a frazzled looking baby-sitter, who seemed very eager to leave.

Moments later, he heard a car pull away from the curb, signalling her departure.

Harry soon understood why she was so distressed, as he entered the kitchen in time to see his plump cousin throw a china plate against the wall, narrowly missing him.

The anger that had been rising up inside Vernon then exploded out into the open.

"This is all _your_ fault, freak! You're the one that did this to us, destroyed our family. We took you in when no one else would, and this is how you bloody repay us. They couldn't find the cause of the fire, don't think that I don't realise it was you. Yes, your _abnormalty_ and freakishness had something to do with it. _You _killed my wife, you destroyed my son. Don't think that I'll let you get away with it this time!"

Harry was slammed backwards against the wall as a china plate hit nearer still this time, smashing shards against his bare arm.

The child yelped out in pain.

"Make him pay for hurting m-_mummy_!" Dudley demanded of his father and for what was probably the first time ever, Harry surprisingly felt a touch of sympathy for his elder cousin. After all, losing a mother couldn't be easy, and now when he glanced at his eyes, he could see they were red and puffy.

Harry didn't understand how it was his fault.

This thought was interupted as a fist slammed into him, almost knocking the boy off balance.

Temporarily stunned by the force of the violence, which was more than his uncle had used for as long as he could remember, Harry stumbled a few steps to one side.

Dudley had now slammed a couple more plates into the air, no longer seeming to care about which direction they went in. As one flew close to Vernon's head, the man turned back towards his distraught son.

And Harry Potter, now desperate to leave the chaotic scene, took the opportunity to dart back into the entrance way and towards the front door.

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A/N- I would like say thank you to wolfawaken, fancyfree, psychiclunar, dave-gerecke and cpt.carrot for taking the time to review and encouraging me to write more. Thanks!

I hope to have the next chapter up within a few more days.


	3. Running Blind

Disclaimer: JK Rowling and a few other people own everything, I don't.

Come Take My Hand

Chapter 3

Running Blind

The child ran from the house, hearing the thumping of heavy footsteps behind him that indicated his uncle's realisation of what was happening.

Harry was as small as his Uncle Vernon and Dudley were large and here his size enabled him run more efficiently. Combined then with the advantage brought with the element of surprise, the situation resulted in the boy reaching the door in time to yank it open wide enough for him to duck outside.

He was now presented with two possible paths he could choose - up the driveway and out onto the open road, or down behind the house, where he could see thick masses of bush and forestation.

On the empty road, stretching out as far as Harry's eyes could see, he understood that there would be little opportunity to escape from sight.

It wasn't a difficult choice even for someone as young as Harry, and with only a split second of hesitation, he darted behind the brick wall. Close behind him, loud raspy breathes were following.

He now could perceive that his only chance of avoiding confrontation with his relatives would be if he lost them amongst the vegetation. He longed for the sercurity and solitude offered behind the curtains of leaves.

Run.

Desperation gave him a frantic type of energy and soon he found himself batting leaves out of his way as he burrelled through them. Bending his head to avoid running into the lowest branches, Harry moved deeper and deeper into the valley.

The gnarled trees were blurring as he tore through them, severely distraught by the events of the past forty-eight hours. The child was no longer sure if he was being followed, but was not willing to relax while there still might remain a chance.

He put everything he had left into the effort of continuing to stumble onwards.

As he did so, he found himself panting heavily and it quickly reached the point where his whole chest was heaving and aching.

Still he felt the urgency to run, escape, survive...

And then a tiny bare foot then found itself caught under a root that protruded from the damp undergrowth and he fell down upon the blanket of damp leaves.

Hide.

Harry crawled over to the closest tree and hid behind it in the seclusion created by the twisted trunk and roots. It was sort of similar to playing hide-and-seek, a game that had always seemed very much like reality to the child, for there had always been dire consequences when Dudley and his friends managed to find the lone boy.

Except here it was much more real.

He froze in the curled up position he was in, as muffled voices and conspicuous grunting breaths reached his ears. The child feared making the slightest movement, in case a rustle of leaves or the snap of a twig gave his location away to Uncle Vernon and Dudley.

As the breathing got closer, the words that were spoken became more distinct.

"-Couldn't have gotten far, the runt." His uncle was saying.

"When - When we find him, you'll hurt him like he hurt Mummy, won't you, Dad?" Dudley's voice sounded tearful.

"That I will, Dudley m'boy." Harry heard as the weary reply.

The child felt his skin growing icy cold. They were speaking of it again, saying that his was to blame for his aunt's death. He didn't understand, wasn't sure why they would believe such a thing.

But could it be true?

Had he broken Aunt Petunia's vase and started the fire?

He wasn't sure how he could have managed to do such atrocities, but if he had...well...they were right in being angry, in wanting to hurt him. Maybe he _was_ a freak, wasn't that how they said he had managed it all?

The child felt tears prick into his eyes.

Maybe that was why nobody liked him. He was dangerous, a dangerous freak.

His uncle and cousin seemed to be advancing further, soon to the point where Harry felt positive that his tree was all that lay between them. He attempted to hold his breath, in case they heard he breathing as easily as he had heard their's.

"Why did h-he h-hurt Mummy, though?" Dudley was practically whining, not handling the physical and emotional stress of the situation well.

Why had he hurt Aunt Petunia? Harry, himself, could have supplied no answers to his grieving cousin.

"I've told you, Dudley, he's a freak, that's why."

Vernon groaned with exhaustion, and Harry was sure that if he could see his uncle, he would have seen an exceptionally red face, with bulging veins throbbing on the side of the thick neck.

"We will go back. He will show up again, there's nowhere else for him to go. And if not, good riddance." The man decided this reluctantly and a few seconds later, Harry could here the defeated trudging of retreating feet, leaving him alone in his tiny sanctuary.

The child remained there, hidden away from the world, for what seemed to him to be hours. The increasing darkness was evidence that supported this, as was the chill that came with the night air, making him shiver as it penetrated the thin, worn cotton of his t-shirt.

Still too afraid and bewildered to leave this spot, he curled himself up even tighter, hugging his legs. The conversations had left him deeply confused, only one thing that his uncle had stated made sense to him - that Harry had nowhere to go.

There was no point going back to the Dursleys' temporary residence, the child could understand this much easily. Going back there would only bring violence upon himself and, anyway, it seemed like he had already made their lives miserable. Going back would only cause them more trouble.

Then there was the guilt. He had never wanted his aunt dead...how could he have killed her? He knew as a fact that he hadn't lit a fire in the house, yet he couldn't deny that strange things often happened around him. Maybe he was bad luck and he had passed his luck onto the Dursleys'.

Once again, he tried to comprehend whether it was his fault that Aunt Petunia had died. He sincerely hoped that he hadn't. To die in such a way...

Fire.

Harry winced, hit with unpleasant thoughts he had now come to associate with flames.

It was enough to make him feel, for the tiniest amount of time, thankful for the bitterly cold air and the dampness of the leaves against him.

Slowly, regardless of both the boy's state of mind and the chill of the breeze against him, his eyelids became heavy. Soon after, he was drifting into a dark and drowsy sleep.

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A/N- I don't think I have had that many reviews for any one chapter before! Thank you all _so_ much, it's so encouraging.

This chapters a bit shorter, sorry.

Next Chapter due probably Saturday/Sunday.


	4. Don't Look Back

Disclaimer: JK Rowling and a few other people own everything, I don't.

Come Take My Hand

Chapter 4

Don't Look Back

The morning brought with it faint beams of sunlight and the distant chirping of birds. The light that filtered through the leaves came to fall on the pale face of the child who had seeked refuge under the aged tree many hours earlier.

Rather than a bitterly cold breeze, a slight morning chill lingered in the air now. The damp forest leaves were stationary, not rustling in the slightest and were weighed down with dew.

As the sunlight gave warmth to the boy's previously cold face and arms, Harry stirred. Taking in his unusual surroundings, he was hit by initial confusion that after a couple of moments thought was replaced with reluctant comprehension.

If he had been alone in the world a few weeks ago, he was even more so now. His remaining family had basically thrown him out, leaving Harry to imagine what the consequences of returning may be. If his uncle was still harbouring the anger that he had felt the previous night, he didn't doubt that he would be beaten to a pulp.

Being tortured by Dudley was bad enough and the boy didn't really want to make any predictions on the amount of pain the larger version would be capable of inflicting.

Especially now Harry had killed Aunt Petunia.

If Harry's own mother had been murdered as opposed to dying in a car accident, he was sure that he would be very angry at whoever had committed such a crime.

No wonder Dudley wanted his father to hurt him.

He deserved it, for he was now relatively certain that he must be responsible for the fire. Uncle Vernon said so and he was a grown-up, he'd have reasons for making the accusation.

He deserved to be hurt.

But no matter how hard he tried to force himself to return for his rightful punishment, Harry couldn't bring himself to venture back to Marge's old house.

It was an accident, certainly it was...

He wouldn't go back there, he was alright by himself, he was used to being alone.

But neither could he stay where he was. Dressed in a worn t-shirt and thin pajama pants, he would easily catch a cold before long...he had no food at all, and although his eyes carefully surveyed the area around him, nothing seemed remotely edible.

Where was he to go to now?

Harry cautiously arose from the small hide-away, his muscles aching as they were stretched at last. He shoved his long black hair away from his eyes, before looking downwards at his appearance.

He would surely attract some stares, he realised.

Unless he kept out of sight, only going in open areas during darkness. By day, he could follow the path of the forest, hidden behind the boughs and leaves.

Eventually, he might find somewhere safe to stay.

The child began wandering as he daydreamed about being found by some long-lost relative, maybe someone with the last name 'Potter', just like him.

Perhaps they hadn't heard about his parents' death, that was why they hadn't collected him from the Dursleys' earlier.

But they would recognise him straight away, sweep him up into their arms and take him home to live with them.

There, they would read him stories, hug him, maybe even bake him a birthday cake on his birthday. He would stay with them for ever and ever, it would be him very own home and family.

The child smiled as he walked on through the thick forestation. His empty stomach and sore, bare feet didn't bother him, he was lost in his brilliant fantasy world.

However, the forest soon transformed into a green countryside, quite unfamiliar to him. It appeared to be deserted, and after Harry felt assured of this, he ventured out over across the fields. The atmosphere here was calming and quiet.

Soon it became obvious to him that this peaceful paradise did not stretch out infinitely into the distance. Before him stood a flimsy fence formed by wire and unevenly sawed wooden bars. And behind this lay a rough country road. It was this road, of course, that caused the boy the greater distress. Although there were no cars in sight, it couldn't be guaranteed that it would remain this way for long.

Yet following this road would no doubt lead him to a town or city. There, he may be able to find food or shelter. He wasn't exactly sure _how_, but he would certainly have a better chance in finding all that he needed in a more populated area.

Of course, he would have to be exceptionally careful if he was to avoid attracting attention. If someone realised he was lost and alone, what would happen to him? He wasn't sure.

An orphanage seemed the logical place for them to put him. And maybe that wasn't a fully bad thing. At least there he would be given food. Yet he still was ambivalent where it came to orphanages.

Feeling weary from a combination of hunger, exhaustion and worry, Harry traipsed behind a rising of grass that blocked any view of him from the road. Here he collapsed into the long grass. He had been walking for a large portion of the day and the slowly sinking sun hinted that darkness would set in after a few more hours.

Then, he might follow the road. If he kept low, behind the fence and amongst the grass, he might be less visible to anyone driving by. If there was only an occasional car passing during daylight hours, the chances of encountering much traffic during the night appeared slim.

Harry picked at the grass, shredding it and twisting it idly. He thought it best not to fall asleep; he may then wake up and find it morning once more. The nighttime seemed to offer him some degree of protection, he didn't wish to miss it.

As soon as the sun dropped behind the darkened hills, the child began to follow the road from what he felt to be a safe distance. He had been right in thinking that he wouldn't met many cars, the road now seemed more lonesome than it had during the day.

Still, every so often the distant beams of headlights gave him reason to drop down onto his stomach.

During the first night of tired walking, he figured he had made very little progress. The country around him didn't seem to be changing a great deal, with just a few houses scattered over the hills and fields.

As he stumbled along on the second night, his empty stomach caused him pangs of hunger and his lack of energy made him drowsy.

Once, he had been lost once more in a daydream, and he was caught off-guard by the sound of a motor approaching fast. As he dropped down, he felt he may have been a fraction too late, yet the car drove on. Feeling that perhaps his existance would be ignored by most, he carried on with slightly more confidence, and his surroundings soon became less rural and more urbanised.

This new scenery turned out to be more beneficial for Harry. The buildings, fences and other structures offered shadows for him to travel through and anyone that was out at this time of night paid him no attention, busy with suspicious tasks of their own.

For these reasons, the child risked walking out in the open whenever it seemed easier than seeking formations to take cover behind.

A drinking fountain Harry discovered near a schoolyard helped to soothe his dry mouth and throat and, now no longer thirsty, he couldn't help but feel slightly happier. Neglecting any form of cover or shadow, he skipped and jumped along the footpath, biting into a juicy apple that had fallen from a tree by the park.

The dark shops that lined the street were all closed and the next sign of life Harry saw was a finger pointed directly at him, portruding from a small group of unfriendly looking people on the other side of the road.

The second that this registered in his mind, the child tore off down the street. His time spent in solitude had made him uneasy with strangers, and the fear of any form of confrontation favoured the idea of running. It was his first instinct, and the behaviour of the seemingly drunk figures behind him proved that it wasn't a mistake.

Running...he'd found himself doing this very often as of late.

Did these people also think he was a murderer?

No...how could they have heard about him?

Unless...could his Uncle have told everyone about Aunt Petunia?

The child frantically turned a corner, finding himself on yet another street of shops. There was nowhere for him to seek refuge...no trees, no hills, no cupboards...

Looking back over his shoulder, it was evident that his pursuers hadn't yet reached the corner. Maybe they had given up, or maybe they were still to arrive. He glanced around behind him, checking for any hiding places he may have missed earlier.

Not looking where he was going, the boy promptly collided with something hard in front of him and he was knocked backwards, off his feet. Hitting the concrete pathway, his glasses fell from his pale face.

"Watch where you're going, _muggle_."

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A/N - Thank-you again for the reviews, I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

Next Chapter: Next weekend, probably, I have exams this week and I should probably add another chapter to my other story before updating this one again...


	5. Collision of Worlds

Disclaimer: JK Rowling and a few other people own everything, I don't.

Come Take My Hand

Chapter 5

Collision of Worlds

Harry struggled back to his feet and hurridly replaced his glasses back upon his nose.

"What were you running from, anyway?"

Moving into the dim illumination of the streetlight, the previously shadowed figure became more easily visible. The voice was coming from a boy of around the same age as Harry himself, hardly any taller and only slightly thicker set.

The stranger eyed Harry curiously, taking in the thin baggy clothes, the bent glasses and the messy dark hair that almost concealed his eyes.

Harry lowered his head to stare at the pavement. He felt intimidated by the confident attitude of the boy and was not enjoying the feeling of being judged in comparison. Then, suddenly remembering the urgency of the moment, his face shot back up to look at the other boy.

"Have to run, being chased...some people-" Harry stammered as he spun around to check that they hadn't caught up with him yet.

There was no sign of anyone behind him, but that didn't necessarily mean anything, they could still be coming, he had to keep moving...

Harry tried to dart around the young stranger, with the intention of keeping on running, but the boy stepped in front him, blocking the way.

"You might want to run also, they looked rather angry." Harry attempted to explain, now feeling rather unsure about the situation.

"Me, run? Malfoys don't _run_ from people like _you_, muggle."

The boy said this in a boasting voice, standing up as straight as he could in order to complement his tone of superiority.

Harry looked at him, puzzled. Perhaps this boy was older than him afterall, or at least a fraction smarter. Harry had never heard the word 'muggle' used before; it sounded like an insult. Embarrassed slightly by his own lack of knowledge, he didn't question it.

He decided that it probably meant something along the lines of 'freak'.

The other boy didn't seem surprised by Harry's blank expression.

"I'm not allowed to tell you why, but I'm better than you, you see. If I were you, I'd be afraid of me. I bet you those people chasing you were."

He grinned as he pushed a lock of straight blond hair that had fallen down into his face back behind his ear.

"Oh."

Harry wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. While it seemed easy for the exhausted boy to understand that the other may indeed be better than him, he still didn't seem nearly as scary as Uncle Vernon could when in one of his rages.

However, there was a question entering his mind that he couldn't help but ask.

"Are-are you playing dress-ups or something?"

For the strange boy was indeed dressed in rather unusual garments. He was wearing a dark green cape of some sort, made from thick, expensive looking material and so long that it sweeped against the ground. The cape was clasped with a gold metal emblem with the letter 'M' at the centre - 'Malfoy', Harry could vaguely remember the boy saying. Visible under the cape was something that to Harry appeared to be a black cotton bathrobe.

Harry thought back to the fancy dress days that the younger students had once a year at his school. Dudley and him had been kept home from school on the last occurance of this - Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon strongly disapproved of the 'imagination nonsense'.

This boy standing in front of him looked like he had tried to dress up a king or something...but he'd forgotten a toy crown.

The Malfoy boy lost his superior demeanor for a second as his face showed evident bewilderment. This was quickly replaced, however, with a smirk, though he didn't verbally respond to Harry's question.

Harry checked behind him again. It now seemed to be unlikely that the people he encountered had continued to follow him. For a split-second he wondered whether the other boy was right in believing others would be scared of him, but Harry still thought it unlikely that grown-ups would cower before someone so small.

There were a few moments of silence, and the other boy began to look bored.

"What are you doing out at night, then?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"Waiting." Was the non-commitive reply he received.

"Better than running away, like you were doing, muggle." The boy then elaborated, when Harry didn't comment.

Harry blushed, ashamed of himself for being such an afraid 'muggle'. He felt it was time to leave, the boy didn't seem a terribly pleasent person, but he was also aware that there was nowhere that he could go to, except carrying walking in hopes of stumbling upon some forgotten family member.

"Well, good-bye then." Harry mumbled, again attempting to continue walking.

Again his path was blocked.

"I'll show you why I'm better than a muggle like you!" The boy said suddenly.

"Alright." Harry responded reluctantly, seeing no other way to leave.

"You know what? I got onto this street from a door that you can't even see, because you're just a muggle!" He continued enthusiastically.

The boy with the glasses looked back at the second boy, now faintly curious.

"A secret door?"

"Yep, it's over there between those two shops, and it's shiny and black and you can't see it!" He announced proudly, pointing at the an area on the other side of the street.

The darker boy turned in that direction.

Harry was now forced to doubt this boy's sanity, for he could clearly see this door that he was being told that he _couldn't_ see. It was off to the far side of the street, black and polished as the pale boy had said. Harry couldn't work out it's function - the shops on either side of it left barely enough room for the door, let alone a shop or anything.

But he could see it quite clearly. Was the other child saying otherwise in an attempt to tease him about his glasses? He supposed that it was a miracle that he could still see through them, they had been broken a number of times.

Or maybe he was making fun of the way Harry's messy hair got in front of his eyes all the time.

Harry stood up straighter, now determined to show that he wasn't the coward he had presented himself as. He shoved his hair flatter against the side of his head, and pushed the hair that fell over his face back to the sides. This was a wasted effort, as it quickly went back into its previous position.

Noting that the Malfoy boy had tucked his hair behind his ears, Harry tried to do the same, hoping it would make him look a fraction tidier.

In doing this, another unusual thing was brought to his attention.

The boy's eyes were widening as he stared in the direction of Harry's forehead.

"You - you're _Harry Potter_!"

And at that moment, Harry Potter wasn't sure what he was more afraid of - the fact that a stranger he had met on the street knew his name, or the tall man in similar emerald robes who had emerged from the black doorway and was striding towards the two of them.

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A/N - I'm really sorry for the EXTREMELY long wait between the last chapter and this one.

Anyway, I would like to thank you all who have been reading and even more those of you who have been _reviewing._ I hope to get the next chapter out more quickly, of course...


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